J. Rufus threw back his head and chuckled in a most infectious manner, his broad shoulders shaking and his big chest heaving.
“I’ll take you for the drink,” he agreed.
Two strapping big fellows in regulation khaki came striding past the hotel, and Mr. Fox immediately hailed them.
“Here, you boys,” he commanded, with a friendly assurance born of the feeling that to-night all men were brothers; “you fellows walk across the street there and get me a quarter’s worth of real ripe bananas.”
The soldiers stopped, perplexed, but only for an instant. The driver of the cab was grinning, the door-man of the hotel was grinning, the prosperous young man by the curb was grinning, and the well-dined and wined elderly gentleman quite evidently expected nothing in this world but friendly complaisance.
“All right, Senator,” acquiesced the boys in khaki, themselves catching the grinning contagion; and quite cheerfully they accepted a quarter, wheeled abreast, marched over to the fruit stand, bought the ripest bananas on sale, wheeled, and marched back.
Selecting the choicest one with great gravity and care, Mr. Silas Fox peeled it and prepared for the great test. The driver leaned forward interestedly; the two in khaki gathered close behind; the large young man chuckled as he watched; the horse poked forward his nose gingerly, then sniffed—then turned slowly away!
Mr. Fox was shocked. He caught that horse gently by the opposite jaw, and drew the head toward him. This time the horse did not even sniff. It shook its head, and, being further urged, jerked away so decidedly that it drew its tormentor off the curb, and he would have fallen had not Wallingford caught him by the arm.
“I win,” declared the driver with relief, gathering up his lines.